Author: Jon Mychal
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MYSTICAL
MYSTICAL Dowries and teardrops, passed down as pearls; Ribbons and sunsets for aspiring romantics… Girls… and the women who steal them — the lavender swirls take form as birds… then fly to their mark. Yet still remains the innocence of cast and hue — my coloured moods: shades befitting the gold that is you. The…
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Flashback
I’m on the subway – it’s 1981 again: the Slav reads – it’s ‘Magic’, I did, too, after night shifts at Yonge and Eglinton. This must be the same train; it’s trademark wiggle loosening some memories… But now, it has more character – I’m convinced I rode in this exact car when Reagan was shot;…
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Creep
Creep While you read my letter, I killed a spider, who casually tried to outwit a writer. Not for profit; nor for sport, it’s simple goal I meant to thwart; but merely because it looked like you: those wind blown hairs and eyes pale blue… And as we spoke, your voice did flutter, while…
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An old friend returns…
May 7, 2008 rtr345terdgfsdfertfdsgcvbgfdsretdgtersretrtetsrret34546ere54657ytetrsfdghcsbdnvgdfsrerjhgdfsterdjhgtretrdftregdfretfdregbvfdertsdfer3456etrdgsfcvdfetrsdferdtfgdvcbvdfrtmystical words hidden in pork fat and capers – the lived variety; the experienced type. Not the tart little berries that cause the lips to pucker and the tongue to curl. This keyboard appears to function properly. Time reveals. Things are not often as they appear. ©2008 Jon Mychal Tweet